Red Sniper

He hit the ground and rolled, but the shock still knocked the breath out of him. It was a thing he’d heard of, but that had never really happened to him before. One second he could breathe, the next he couldn’t—he was like a fish tossed up on a river bank, gasping. Fortunately, it was not a sensation that lasted long. His lungs started working again.

Somehow, he had managed to get tangled up in the parachute and the cords. It was damn near impossible to tell what was what in the dark, so Cole unsheathed his big knife and chopped at whatever lines he could reach. The knife was razor sharp, and the chute fell away.

He bundled it up as he had been taught, then shoved it under a bush. Then he crouched down and looked around as he got his bearings.

He seemed to have come down in an expanse of emptiness. Although it was dark and he could see no more than his hand in front of his face, he could feel the barren landscape surrounding him. He had the sensation of being in a vast, open space. He stood still, just listening. He heard the noise of the C-47, fading away. He wished those flyboys luck getting home on one engine. Then all he heard was the sigh of wind.

He definitely didn’t hear any warning shouts in Russian, which was a good sign. They had been told not to worry about the Russians—nobody was expecting them, and their landing zone was just about exactly in the middle of nowhere. For once, the so-called intelligence seemed to have been correct.

He just hoped that the other three men had landed in the general vicinity. How the hell were they supposed to link up? It all sounded so much more sensible back in the warm, well-lighted planning room than it did here.

He decided to take a chance and click on his flashlight. He flicked the switch on and off a couple of times. He was relieved when he saw a light flick on and off in answer about three hundred feet away. An even more distant light appeared, then clicked off again. That accounted for two of the others, but what about the third? He waited tensely, wondering if anyone hostile had seen the light. There were no warning shouts or gunshots. With any luck, nobody had seen them arrive.

Cole flicked his light again and then began moving in the direction of the nearest answering light.

He had not gone more than a dozen steps when he realized he was not alone. It was hard to say how he knew, exactly. You couldn’t spend time in the woods without experiencing that feeling at some point—and learning to trust it.

Cole froze. He unslung his rifle, being careful not to make any noise. There was nowhere to run or hide out here in the open, so he got down low, where he would not be silhouetted against the sky. Then he held his breath.

Someone went past him in the dark. He could just see the figure in the starlight. Definitely one person. It was not a body type he recognized as another team member. He had the impression of someone a little older and thicker—not a soldier, then. But stealthy all the same.

He rose up, took three silent steps, and put his rifle muzzle between the other man’s shoulder blades.

The man halted. Slowly, he raised his arms from his sides. One held a rifle. “Do not shoot Vaska,” the man said in heavily accented English.

Cole pulled the rifle back. “Turn around and keep your hands just like that.”

The man did as ordered, swiveling slowly around to face Cole. “I am to be your guide,” he said.

“I like blueberry cobbler,” Cole said, remembering the first part of the password.

Vaska thought a moment. “With vanilla ice cream.”

Cole lowered the rifle. “Do you always go around making as much noise as a herd of elephants?”

The guide shook his head. “You must have the ears of a lynx. Where are the others?”

“Scattered around.”

“Come, let us find them. There are only a few hours until daylight, and everything must be hidden by then.”

Cole and the guide moved toward where Cole had last seen the light. That’s where they found Vaccaro, still wrestling his way free of the tangled parachute lines. “You pushed me out of the plane, you son of a bitch.”

“Shut up, Vaccaro. By the way, it’s good to see you, too.”

Vaccaro nodded at the guide. “Who’s this?”

“This here is Vaska.”

Vaccaro flicked on his light. “No offense, Vaska, but you look old enough to be my grandpa.”

Vaska shrugged.

“Come on, let’s go find the rest of us,” Cole said. He flicked the light and got another answer flash, so they moved in that direction.

Soon enough, they found Samson. He was limping, but otherwise no worse for wear.

Honaker was nowhere to be found. Cole flicked his light again, but got no response.

“What do you think if I give him a shout?” Cole wondered. “Vaska, are we near anyone who ain’t supposed to hear us?”

“You are in the taiga,” Vaska said, and offered another shrug, as if that explained everything. “Fire a cannon if you want.”

“All right then.” Cole filled his lungs and shouted, “Honaker!”